


Ashen

by Swayley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18331541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swayley/pseuds/Swayley
Summary: After some time people realise the world's not divided in black and white, right or wrong; everything's grey, ashen, as the ashes and wreckage left by the war, as the morality of a mother who protects her son at all costs, as the eyes of someone you have always wanted to save.





	1. Life Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luciana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciana/gifts).



 

_March, 1998_

 

         _Rain is something funny._ She knew it was an awkward thought to have considering the moment, however, it was exactly what she was thinking over those last few instants, nested and embracing her own knees on a window sill while observing those heavy raindrops punishing the glass. Rain had a bunch of facets that could make you feel truly alive — when little raindrops fall on your face and you smile with the sensation of being against them, for instance — or either could ruin all your hopes, draining through you as the water that drenches your clothes… and leave you empty.

         It’s grey; might be good, might be bad, it all depends on the angle of the viewer, on the moment.

         She used to enjoy observing it because the rain didn’t mirror the current Manichean reality — it worked almost as a pressure valve that didn’t involve butterbeer or some sort of illicit activity.

         This introspective girl in particular was called Ginevra Molly Weasley, sixteen years old, living in a world trying to balance itself on a tightrope before a breathless audience. No one could say for sure on which side the world would swing.

         Her life had a white side, joyous. A side capable of waking her up early in the morning and shout to the world once this “crisis” was over, she would be Harry Potter’s wife, the Boy-That-Kept-Surviving. It just didn’t cross her mind that, after so long and after so many fights, things could end up badly. It was a matter of destiny, of _justice_. The white side of her life also covered her family, the ones that encompassed her with love as a cocoon encompasses a butterfly about to transform — even if the comparison wasn’t _that good_ , since growing up with six elder Siblings gave her the graciosity of a hippopotamus rather than a butterfly’s. But she couldn’t care less as long as they were by her side… as long as Harry was by her side.

         And then there was the dark side of her life, somehow always lurking, always waiting for the slightest blunder. A black side that almost killed her during her first year in Hogwarts due to a bloody enchanted diary, which by the way, put the entire school in danger. The dark side that got her literally running for her life at the Ministry of Magic on her fourth year and the responsible for the tense atmosphere that caused the air to be nearly unbreathable. The black side that took Mad-Eye Moody in June, Dumbledore a year before, disfigured Bill. The dark side that kept pushing her away from _him_. She missed Harry so much that sometimes she thought she would suffocate, as much as for his absence as for the fact he was threaded somewhere with Ron and Hermione while she was condemned to stay in Hogwarts… and the sorrow rooted in her chest was there because she was certain of giving all the possible proofs of her capacity and devoutness, and yet, at the end, she would never be anything but the youngest sister, a fragile girl who needs protection, and she loathed that.

         They have never treated Hermione that way, and for “they” she defined as half of the wizarding world.

         Nevertheless, she kept validating her point, doing her bit. At least it was what she has been trying to do in Hogwarts since she left The Burrow at the beginning of past year’s September. Alongside the Dumbledore’s Army (or the remains of it), she established the Resistance’s cell opposing You-Know-Who’s influence at the school, and only Merlin knew at what cost: if previously detentions could be summed up in boredom and never ending tedious activities, such as dealing with dusty books and viscous animals, now the setting was definitely different. It wasn’t sporadic a student coming back from those torture sessions disguised in detentions incapable of walking by themselves, and that was specifically true for Neville; contrary to all Universe prognoses, he had been showing himself a valorous leader, filling her heart with tenderness whenever she thought of him.

         It all began when she, Neville and Luna tried to steal the Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the Headmaster’s Office, then Severus Snape’s. They had been sent to the Forbidden Forest and their visits to Hogsmeade were banished; Ginny assumed that would be the summit on detentions terms to receive, but thereupon, the school’s disciplinary sector got under Alecto and Amycus Carrow’s charge, who took the teacher posts of “Muggles Studies” and the newly devised “Dark Arts”. Ginny felt shivers down her spine at the memory: now students were obliged to practice Unforgivable Curses on those whom were in detention, and Ginny was gutted at the fact.

         The worst part, besides not having any news from the outside world, was enduring the Carrow Siblings’ _oddities_. Hogwarts became similar to a cemetery full with lost souls wandering through the halls. Obviously, _genuine_ lost souls were wandering there, although the context was quite unrelated.

         Their last brilliant idea was promoting some kind of fraternization, aiming to testify the wizarding world was now united under one and only flag. _The four big houses of Hogwarts must be united_ , a crystal clear statement meaning there was no room for disparity and plurality; this “fraternization” would be the first step towards homogeneity. Of course, the gentle touch of masochism had been left in the Carrow Siblings’ careful hands: they found very interesting (not to say hilarious) to determine the couples for the occasion, creating potential punitive and embarrassing situations for those involved. It seemed unnecessary underline that to refuse to attend “could” bring more trouble than benefits. Furthermore…

         “Hey, Redhead.”

         She was abruptly pulled away from her thoughts.

         On those particular moments, the entire elder Siblings’ forbidden vocabulary and the need of having a Quidditch wooden bat at hand would pop up on her mind. Blaise Zabini appeared from a shadowy corner on the hall, seemingly ready to the forthcoming session of torture disguised as a Ball. It was still ghastly to uphold any sort of civilised dialogue with him, but… his presence was way more comforting than a Carrow Siblings’.

         “Hello to you too, Zabini. Good to know it’s common to stalk defenceless girls through the halls among those who received a pure-blood _marvellous education_ ,” she emphasized.

         “First of all, you’re also a pure-blood, in spite of everything. Secondly, if you are a defenceless girl, I’m sure You-Know-Who fancies nasal congestion charms.” He said with his typical steady voice. “I’ve already witnessed one or two consequences of your jinxes to verify for myself how much defenceless you can be.”

         She bit her lower lip to avoid an unwanted smile. If someone had told her a few months ago she would have something near to a friendship with Blaise Zabini, she would give a lift herself to this someone directly to St. Mungus. Even though he was more cloistered than his Slytherin comrades, Blaise had never hid his scorn for muggle-borns, although the fact of always demonstrating disdain for every single person, regardless of their origin, weighed on his favour. The truth was Blaise Zabini was a relief, showing up with his natural acid retorts, cynicism and his constant behaviour. Ginny, not for the first time, pondered that was exactly what was missing on her life latterly: _Constancy._

         It was evident she was far from deeming Blaise Zabini as the new paladin of the fight against the Dark Lord, able to forge a scar on his forehead and defeat Death Eaters. Perhaps what attracted her about his presence was precisely that — she was so familiar with a “good versus evil” world that finding someone who didn’t swing to neither side made her curiosity level rise to a great extent. Therefore, since the detention in which she was compelled to stay under his supervision for four hours (what supposedly should violate some moderate types of torture), their acquaintanceship evolved a lot. He was quite pleasant to chat with, as long as the fact of him being an egocentric bastard was ignored.

         In essence, Blaise was the embodiment of selfishness, purely. He was not loyal to any ideology, to any cause. He didn’t appreciate fundamentalisms of any kind, and neither would stick his neck for someone. He wanted (and he would, she had the feeling) to be on the winning side. Well, at least he was fun and he could make her forget for briefs seconds about the utter tosh that was living during a war — and when in war, if the only thing Ginny has learnt, you can’t choose your allies; you simply avail those who are given to you.

         She jumped from the window sill, stretched out in one of her usual feline movements, and began to walk.

         “It isn’t proper to wisecrack on the hallways nowadays, Blaise” she sighed, still avoiding a smile. She didn’t reckon it was _right_ to smile while Harry and Ron were starving and freezing, or while the Dumbledore’s Army was being hunted.

         “As much as it isn’t proper to wear a brown dress when you’ve got this flaming hair. You have the appearance of a rust spot” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose at her. “But this is how life goes on, my dear Gryffindor. Good taste is just like money. Some have lots and others have _so_ few…” He smiled with a bit of malice.

         She compared her coy brown dress, adorned with golden lace on the sleeves and hem, to his posh tailor-made suit; it was of a dark-blue that matched his chocolate, comely skin. For a short period of time, she felt as if wearing a dress tailor-made to her grandmother. But it was a _very_ short period of time. It wasn’t proper to get attached to futilities.

         The relevant fact was: she didn’t care about Blaise’s retorts anymore, mainly the ones about her financial condition, because those had a tendency to be followed by some comment even poisoner concerning someone else, regardless of their origin, financial condition or status. For example, the comments he always did on Pansy Parkinson and her low intelligence quotient.

         Ginny saw the chance and she grabbed it.

         “Then I’m very glad you’ve got a date with lots of money but none good taste” She said, half serious, half smiling. “I bet you’ll have an unforgettable night with Parkinson.”

         She sensed he got uncomfortable. “ _Touché._ It doesn’t amuse me to scavenge other’s people garbage” He said with a tad of his proud wounded and an absolute malicious tone. “Even if I’m strongly guessing Malfoy won’t care much about what I’ll do or not with Parkinson, since he’ll have the pleasure of a far more interesting company.”

         Ginny blushed right away — with anger. It was hard enough to deal with the obligation of attending the Ball, but having Draco Malfoy as her date was the equivalent of being cursed. Since the end of the last year, his image only brought knots to her stomach. _Dumbledore…_ his fault. _Bill..._ his fault. Grief in Hogwarts… _everything_ was his and that bloody Vanishing Cabinet fault.

         After the couples’ announcement, her mood got pretty bad for an entire week. She has finally attested the veracity of “Nothing is bad enough to the point it cannot get worse”.

         Anyways, it seemed the Malfoy’s influence inside the Death Eaters circle was outworn. There was no doubt she was being punished through the selection; the acquaintanceship with Zabini may had caused the impression of a slight inclination to the Dark Side, but this impression was very microscopic once it was took under advisement her family was still a blood-traitor and, to top it all, she had been Harry Potter’s girlfriend.

         On the other hand, the punishment to Malfoy could only mean one thing: his family was in trouble with You-Know-Who. After what happened at the Ministry of Magic and at the Astronomy Tower, something went, without question, very wrong for them. Probably it was about Draco’s failure on his attempt to kill Professor Dumbledore, in spite of him being the responsible for all the chaos caused in Hogwarts that night… Anyhow, Ginny could only speculate.

         “Oh, yes, his date is a very distinctive person. It’s a _shame_ that he thinks she’s worth less than a toothless grindylow.” She said absently.

         Blaise laughed. He wouldn’t laugh often and Ginny thought his smile made his countenance a lot blander. “So I presume his distinctive date worries about what he thinks of her?”

         Her stomach tossed and turned thanks to the nausea provoked by Zabini’s joke. She couldn’t dismiss from her mind the problems Malfoy had created by the end of the school past year, the injuries Bill had suffered, and how Harry broke up with her on Dumbledore’s funeral.

         “Easier for me to worry about Snape’s thoughts on my dress.” She said more grudgingly than expected. The one sin of Blaise Zabini was the fact that he was an egocentric bastard, and for the meanwhile, he didn’t deserve a double shot of Weasley temperament.

         “Hum, I somewhat doubt his taste can be trusted. However, you can ask him for some hair washing advice… Or not.” He had come back to his introspective self and Ginny got surprised, not for the first time, by how much of an egocentric Blaise really was.

         Raising the hem to an acceptable height which would allow her to walk a little faster, Ginny hastened her steps towards The Great Hall, designated to host the “fraternization”. Draco Malfoy didn’t bother himself in contacting her, and neither did she. As the vast majority of couples was arranged to dissatisfy those involved, the mutterings spread through the hallways suggested the best to do was to meet at The Great Hall’s doors, then perform a bit to the Carrow Siblings, make a just-sucked-sour-lemon face and get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

         As turning the hallways, with a quiet Zabini on her heels, Ginny kept focusing on the end of the evening. She was walking faster and faster as if it could anticipate the so desired end, with her shoes echoing against the castle’s solid rock walls. Blaise was walking with much more elegance and flippancy, not even putting some effort in following her. When both turned a hallway that provided access to a few rooms, they saw two silhouettes dragging a third, which looked more unconscious than awake. In a certain way, Zabini’s presence gave her the courage to get close. Ginny held her breath at the scene.

         Neville was laid between two big lads, staggering to his feet. A cut was bleeding on his right eye while the left one was so swollen it could be considered nothing but a simple line inserted on a purple sea of protuberances, also known as the right side of his face. He seemed to be wearing a gala suit, but it was so damaged Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if Neville told her he was just hit by the Hogwarts Express. After drinking five bottles of fire whiskey.

         “In the name of Merlin, Neville! What happened to you?!” She gasped, getting closer.

         The troglodytes who carried him (who Ginny recognized as Vincent Crabbe and David Urquhart) tried to block her way, but the imposing figure of Blaise Zabini right behind her as a statue somehow intimidated further reactions on the part of the "guards”.

         “Oh, hey there Gin!” He said with difficulty. “It’s nothing major, trust me. All I did was conveying my thoughts to the Carrow about this Ball under our conditions. I guess they didn’t appreciate my insight.” He finished the sentence with a mixture of coughing and laughter, which made his body swing inertly between the troglodytes.

          Ginny stared at her dress, at herself, ready for a Ball, and felt as the worst and deplorable person ever, agreeing to such whimsicalities coming from lunatics. She had the urge to rip out her dress, wield her wand and scream to the world she would fight, as her Siblings, as Neville.

         Neville, already being dragged again to wherever it was his destination, noticed her reaction and as much as his condition allowed he tried to say gently: “Relax, Gin. Each one of us has its own manner to fight. It doesn’t mean not fighting at all.” He ceased with a wink, but its effect was neutralized due to the aspect of his eye. Afterward, Crabbe dealt a violent kick on Neville’s right leg, and he immediately fell on the ground as a huge sack of oat. The Slytherin laughed as he would on those rare occasions when someone tells him a joke and he understands it. Ginny tried to react but the hand groping for her wand wasn’t as fast as Zabini’s hand holding hers.

         His stone cold look was saying “don’t do anything you might regret later”. Ginny disentangled her hand from his sharply and dashed towards the opposite direction, leaving the message “don’t you dare follow me” hovering in the air. Blaise was terrific when dealing with unsaid words. She would find a way to get to Neville after that stupid Ball was over.

         Ginny tightened her eyes trying to avoid the tears, remembering of her first ball at Hogwarts, when Neville invited her, and it strangely seemed to have happened ages ago. She missed that age. She missed her room with those _The Weird Sisters_ posters plastered on the walls. She missed her mother when washing the dishes with just a wave of her wand in a dance so familiar to her. She missed Luna, who has been kidnapped in the Hogwarts Express by Death Eaters on Christmas. She missed Hermione, she missed the twins and she missed _Harry_. Merlin, she missed Harry so much. She missed everything she had lost since Dumbledore’s funeral.

         She shook her head, nurturing Neville’s idea. Yes, she would fight. But one battle at once. At that moment she needed to survive the evening, which probably would result in memories she would gladly dump right after in a Pensieve.

         Ginny slowed her steps, taking a breath, and tried to pay attention to the details of the room which preceded The Great Hall’s entrance, whilom decorated so gorgeously for the Yule Ball, in the Triwizard Tournament year. There wasn’t as much sparkle and illumination but the most accentuated difference was, with no doubts whatsoever, people’s faces… Erstwhile so happy and full of expectations concerning the music, the food, the whisperings to come, and now their faces only showed anxiety and disgust, awaiting their undesired dates.

         She thought, sniffing between weep and desperate humour, that place was comparable to the St. Mungus waiting room; where people didn’t know very well what they would find in the room aside, but they could affirm it wouldn’t be something good. The Great Hall entrance was open; however, Ginny couldn’t see with clarity what it had inside. As she was about to squint her eyes and deepen the inspection, a figure detoured her attention.

         There he was standing, turned back, leaning against one of the pillars responsible for the sustentation of the ceiling, monstrously high on that part of the Castle.

         The time has arrived. The time to deal with Draco Malfoy.

 


	2. ... Ball?

 

         She raised her head as if the weight of the world was on her nape and walked towards him, convinced the best she could do for her loved ones was to be strong. She thought about the irony of Ginny Weasley herself feeling so absurdly alone and feckless when she was known for her strength and impulsiveness — and the presence of Dementors around the school wasn’t improving her mood. She was surrounded by Dementors, Death Eaters and ferrets. _Perfect_.

         She stopped halfway and grimaced.

         There wasn’t any other viable way left to defer the encounter; “confrontation”, as her mind insisted on defining. He was standing in an awkward, tense position, facing The Great Hall’s entrance as if trying to capture something coming from there. Being where she was, out of his sight, had two distinct aspects: the negative one was she would be deferring the inevitable and postponing her torture session… The positive one was she could observe him for a little bit longer and guarantee he hadn’t brought anything lethal that could hurt her severely. Not to mention his wand, of course. At least, she was pretty decent when dealing with wands.

         As usual, his outfit appeared to be of excellent quality, dark over the pale skin. She wondered if he was aware of the fact that those black clothes left on him a dreadful resemblance to a corpse… even the savourless Slytherin green would fit better on that white ferret than the absolute black. She noticed the long sleeves, presumptively covering up his Dark Mark which identified him as a Death Eater, and felt shivers as she was reminded of the dark masks enclaving her two years ago at the Ministry of Magic. There wasn’t a strand of hair misaligned; she got surprised at his decision to go back on old habits and apply gel on it, as he used to during his first years in Hogwarts, combed back to perfection — and more surprised at the thought of remembering with precision about his hairstyle during those years. People’s mind could store the most useless details.

         As so many others, she supposed, he had grown up; from that distance, he was almost at the same height as Ron, although thinner. There was no sign of beard, despite of him being close to complete eighteen years old; Ginny couldn’t figure out if it was a result of Malfoy’s barber or not. Doubtless, he wasn’t what Ginny would have by handsome, not with that overlong face, exorbitant paleness and aristocratic countenance… But something was there, she could tell… Nothing that could propitiate a second look, though. That is, save for that night, as she couldn’t fight against her natural curiosity. She preferred thinking the sudden interest was due to the forced encounter. Yes, it was certainly due to that.

         But nothing else would draw attention to him as the fact that he didn’t look _young_ despite of the age: his grey eyes, per usual glistening with arrogance and often begging for a punch or jinx, were then opaque as if waiting for something bad and inevitable to happen. Ginny tried to picture what could have happened to him after the battle at the Astronomy Tower, and for the first time she didn’t finish the thought with a _“If something bad happened it was well deserved”_. The last she heard, while still at the Burrow, You-Know-Who had settled in the Malfoy Manor — a guest whose host couldn't afford to displease.

         She approached gulping; ordering her legs to at least pretend, given they didn’t have the courage to behave with dignity. He sensed her approach and turned his head at her direction: his face didn’t show anything at all, just a cold mask which Ginny presumed he had learnt to display during his holidays among giant snakes and lunatic wizards, a few months ago. She remained put, standing in front of him, trying to bring some defiance to her eyes even though she knew it was fruitless; it was too late and she wouldn’t accomplish a thing by rebelling. At best she would end up as Neville, injured because of an unthinking act.

         And contrary to all expectations that could have been created by her mind, Draco Malfoy held out his left hand, gloved and with the palm up, in a resigned gesture that could only belong to someone who had lost every battle.

         His hand kept still as if asking for something. It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, precluding Ginny to find amusement in the situation formed inside her little head: a Malfoy _asking_ _for something_ to a Weasley. Normally it would be funny, but it was also true that, normally, Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have bothered to even glance at her.

         The whole world had stopped as she raised her right hand; when she was almost touching his, Ginny found out the reason why his eyes had piqued her interest: they were eyes of someone who was just about to cross the thin line between sanity and insanity. At last she laid her hand on his; soon afterwards she realised she trembled at her discovery — for a brief and mad period of time, she thought she could help Draco Malfoy, ask (was he asking for help?) the Order of the Phoenix to protect him, talk to Harry…

         He interrupted her incoherent thoughts by raising his eyebrow and staring her hand over his; he knew. He knew she was there and he felt those awkward thoughts running through her mind. Ginny scolded herself inwardly once she understood he had felt her trembling. In a subtle movement he began to walk, leading Ginny, her small and freckled hand on his, and gradually a peculiar image was coming to light — she would lock up herself for an entire week just to avoid the imminent chatter about that scene... whether or not in the midst of a war, people had a tendency to cling to futile pleasures induced by gossips.

         His silence didn’t unsettle her. In fact, quite the opposite; it was better that way. If they were obliged to do it, it was preferable to get it done quick and bluntly. It was already a relief he hadn’t said anything offensive (yet), neither had tried to jinx her or practice Unforgivable Curses on her (yet).

         At last they have entered in The Great Hall. The décor wasn’t much different, although it seemed more alive, what was a logical impression since The Great Hall was fuller. Ginny noticed that all those considered pure-blood wizards in general had chosen their dates of free and spontaneous will. The exception, of course, resided on those whom were blood-traitors, as she was. She felt her heart sink when Neville came across her mind; he could have chosen a girl to accompany him, but instead he had chosen to protest. She remembered with fondness of how they used to hide in the hallways, painting on the walls words of the Order, spreading for those who had eyes to read the Dumbledore Army was still standing.

         The Hogwarts’ professors won an honour seat next to the Headmaster at the platform placed for the occasion, and Ginny thought it was similar to a King’s stratum, escorted by his most loyal subjects. She couldn’t avoid concluding the students were playing the role of court jester, as one of those muggles stories Harry told her once. Some professors appeared to bear the same impression: McGonagall was sitting in such a stance that made her even more adamant than an ogre with torticollis; the plump Professor Sprout was unquiet, as if wanting nothing but the refugee of her greenhouse; and Professor Flitwick was even smaller than usual, threaded in the cushion of his chair as if wanting to be anywhere else but there.

         Snape, or rather, Headmaster Snape, was impassive, carrying a defiant expression of _“I have killed Dumbledore, does someone have anything against that?”_ Ginny couldn’t look at him anymore; it was painful. Nonetheless, Malfoy had other plans: he decided to go before the headmaster, as if saying _“Look at me, I am with the pauper Weasley, I am doing everything you impose me to do”_. Ginny couldn’t help but think he was expecting that, perhaps, by those means, he could get some peace. Amycus Carrow was right next to Snape and not even tried to shun the guffaw when he set his eyes on them. _Definitely, the Malfoys are in dire straits,_ she reckoned with a tad of pity. She shook her head, pushing away that feeling, which while on the subject, was manifesting itself more often than desired.

         Still, some students were relaxed, mainly those who belonged to Slytherin; they were dancing to a song from a band unknown to Ginny, but the band wasn’t good… maybe she just wasn’t in the mood for a song. Then with dismay she realised he was leading her to a group formed in essence by poisonous snakes, also known as Slytherins. Appalled, she sought for Blaise, only to find his obnoxious colleagues: Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle.

         Ginny had the urge to leave and search for her Gryffindor compatriots, see how they were holding on, although she knew the majority of them had escaped from more unpleasant dates such as hers... it all led her to believe the Carrow Siblings’ creativity had reached their apex when selecting _her_ date. In any case, the unyielding hand of Malfoy was frustrating her wishes, relentless as he kept on leading her — she couldn't get rid of his grip with ease or without getting noticed. That would bin away all the torture which preceded the Ball, all the anger, the nervousness, the temporary resignation... Nothing would have been worth it.

         Draco got closer to the group and for the first time he smiled; but it was one of those smiles that would never reach the eyes, which in his case remained opaque and elusive. He pulled her almost with courtesy, as if for a moment she was in fact his date, a decent girl deserving of his company, and Ginny's keen instinct alerted her instantly.

         “Why so tense, Weasley?” he said, looking at her with a spark of cynicism in his frigid eyes. “We’re already fulfilling our role to entertain the mass” he motioned his head to the Carrow Siblings, and the slight gesture caused for some strands of his platinum blond hair to fall over his eyes.

         “I’d rather you a few instants ago, when I thought a hippogriff had eaten your tongue” she said with a scathing tone.

         “Good to know there is a side of me you’d rather” his eyes fell on her, ruthless. “That will remind me of never demonstrating this side when near to you.” She tried to remove her hand curtly, but he closed his fingers around hers with a painful pressure. “You won’t get rid without causing a stir and I assume this is as much as unwelcomed to your cause as is for mine. We have to play this comedy for a little bit longer” he said with his teeth clenched, as if the words were coming out with a lot of effort.

         “I don’t believe it’s really necessary, everyone has seen how good we are behaving ourselves” she tried to loosen the grip. “I’ve smiled so much without willing that my face will be like this forever,” she complained more to herself than to him, after a moment of silence.

         “It wouldn’t be all bad, then. It would divert the focus from others disagreeable aspects of you” he finished with a cynical giggle and Ginny understood what prompted Harry to cast a spell such as _Sectumsempra_ on him; if she could, she would have done very similarly.

However, she didn’t let her irritation slip through in her reply. “Are you saying I have such a glaring smile, _Draco?_ ” she emphasized his name, and for a millisecond, she felt his hand getting rigid.  Ginny was then ecstatic by her petty revenge. “Does your life need smiles so badly? Oh, I see it needs! Living with no prestige under You-Know-Who’s wings must be depressing” she completed with a poisoned smirk; his eyes gained a metallic lustre which Ginny’s mind registered as an obvious sign of danger.

         He tightened even more her hand in his, and she couldn’t avoid a small groan of pain. “Would you care to meet some people?” It was his only response to her insinuation about his family situation, apparently disgraced before Voldemort’s eyes.

         Malfoy wasn’t interested in waiting for an answer as he kept leading her towards where he wanted. Soon she found herself in the middle of a circle, still hand in hand with him, a growing claustrophobic panic within her. All of a sudden, she was no longer Ginny Weasley, the popular girl, Quidditch player, symbol of strength and independence; she was an eleven years old girl, reddening as much as the red of her hair when near to Harry Potter, terrified of diaries, hidden underneath her mother’s skirt.

         Then Malfoy said, with his drawling voice more alive than she thought it would be, “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce you to the filthiest pure-blood witch of the United Kingdom… as deplorable as her dress.” He released her hand.

         Between barely contained giggles and venomous gazes, everything collapsed on Ginny’s head — and the most aggravating was to deal with the surge of impotence, which she hadn’t experienced for at least five years then. The humiliation before those people made her think about Neville, about Dumbledore sprawled in a weird position on the ground, about George with his ear gushing out, about Bill scarred on a hospital bed, about Ron lost because of a close to impossible mission… and looking at those people, which parents were directly or indirectly connected to all the misfortunes her family had gone through for the past years, she just couldn’t take it any longer.

         She turned and ran without worrying about bumping into someone and, for the first time since she came back from The Burrow, since she noticed Harry was gone after Bill’s wedding, for the first time… she truly cried.

         Ginny ran for a while, and only stopped after going through lots of doors and vaults as her breath didn’t allow her to go any further without asphyxiating. _Everyone is entitled to a few moments of cowardice,_ she thought with bitterness, _even the ‘perfect’ Ginny Weasley._ Maybe that was the exact point: she was tired of playing the “perfect and strong” part. She just wanted everything to end as soon as possible so she could get her life back.

         Ginny kept wandering until she realised she had went to some kind of a huge terrace, which had a great and wide sight of the school landscape; she was able to see the beginning of the Forbidden Forest and a portion of the Great Lake. She held her breath, stunned by the fact that, after six years studying there, she still hadn’t visited all the places that _could_ be visited. However, not even the beautiful sight provided by the terrace could stop her from throwing away her shoes with violence, imagining they were the heads of all despicable Slytherins on Earth. Once again she had the urge to rip out her dress and throw it away as well, but somewhere deep in her subconscious her rational side projected a scene of her walking through the hallways of the school up to the east tower, where the Gryffindor Common Room was located, semi-nude, trying to sneak behind armours and old curtains. Upon careful consideration of that scene, she halted her Weasley temper.

         Ginny limited herself to sigh, and with a small leap she settled down on the border of the terrace, her back turned to the access door and her little feet swinging carelessly. The probability of getting hurt by falling from up there was quite inexistent; not because the lack of people who would like to pull her, but because despite of her unbridled escape, she hadn't gone beyond the ground floor of the castle. Therefore, even if the terrain was irregular, the fall wasn’t high enough.

She could concentrate on her thoughts; the yearning for home and the thirst to get into the fight... and growing up! That stupid Ball and the incident with the white ferret had taken the biscuit, and as a matter of fact, she had thought there were no more biscuits to be taken. A winter wind blew with more force, raising her long and red hair which she hadn't made the effort to tie: it was pulled back, almost reaching her hip. She remained so for several minutes.

         Ginny realised she was cold, inside and out.

         "This intensive Quidditch practice got you a pretty fine conditioning, Redhead. It took me some time to find you here." Blaise came forth, catching his breath. Ginny turned her head to see him, and the look she gave him was to all appearances far from friendly, as Blaise raised his hand right after in a gesture of surrender. "I came in peace."

         "Where were you when I was being eaten by those baby basilisks? You would've been very useful since you're immune to their poison." Although her anger was lessening, leaving room for sheer frustration, she still had to disburden somehow. "I thought you'd be with them for the night and maybe I'd have someone I could to talk to... At least while the toffee-nosed ferret was by my side." She sighed.

         Blaise reckoned it was safe enough to attempt an approach and propped his elbows on the border, using his hands as a holder for his chin. It was an outlandish sight, as if she was seeing Zabini, the tall Zabini, from the top for the first time ever.  He offered her one of his famous tight-lipped smiles in response to the nickname Ginny put on his friend. "I was looking after my interests... and devising excuses to get rid of Pansy, who wouldn't stop yakking about Draco and his distant demeanour. See, both of you share the appreciation for badmouthing my dear friend Malfoy." Ginny simulated a vomit over the comparison. "Or it might be just because of his poor finesse when it comes to women." He wondered.

         Ginny decided to ignore Parkinson’s complaints and Malfoy’s “poor finesse”; her attention got caught by something else.

         “What sort of interests?” she asked with her usual vivacity back.

         “Politics. A word well put for the Headmaster here, an insinuation to the Carrow Siblings there… In politics and negotiations all that matters is the right connections.” He explained absentminded.

         Again Ginny felt that Blaise was an awful person to keep around. Schemer, selfish, egocentric, arrogant... dangerous. She knew he was using their "friendship" as a second plan, in case things got ugly to Voldemort; but she couldn't stop asking herself if he hadn't sufficient guarantees that nothing would happen to him if Voldemort fell. Besides, after months of acquaintanceship, Ginny didn't have anything concrete against him, and she'd be a valuable witness if necessary. She stared at him for a few instants.

         “Sometimes I wonder why you bother looking after my presence. You already know I could get you Harry’s indulgence, and so the wizarding world’s, if needed.” She said with callous.

         “A good question indeed, which I ask myself very often. I know the seeds I planted in your noble Gryffindor soul will bear fruits,” he made a dramatic pause, “ _if needed_. Therefore, I conclude I look after you only because I truly enjoy your presence.”

         She widened her eyes. This was _so wrong!_ Blaise Zabini saying he _truly enjoyed_ Ginny Weasley’s presence! He might just have started to defend the peaceful living between muggles and wizards.

         He laughed, guessing her thoughts. “Oh, no, you should efface those ideas about a world divided in bad and good people without any intersection between them. Furthermore, don’t delude your poor little heart about the verb ‘enjoy’. You’re definitely not my type, Redhead.”

         Ginny opened and closed her mouth before answering, wavering between utter shame for thinking he could have any love-related interest on her, and utter outrage for he had just admitted, openly, he used their "friendship" for political purposes.

         However she chose to turn, come down from the border with a jump, and walk barefoot towards the door.

         “Come on, Blaise. It’s time to get some news about Neville and go to bed. The wizarding world may end tomorrow and I don’t want to die knowing I’ve spent my last night with you.” She stated with a playful blink as he nodded and followed her, unfathomable as ever.

         She wanted nothing but that day to end soon... as all the other days to come, she was certain.

         Perhaps she also wanted, more even, to forget about that one time she thought she could help Draco Malfoy. People like him were beyond salvation.

         _Or weren’t?_   Involuntarily she went away with that thought on her mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Original Work, Plot and Concept by [Ludi](https://fanfiction.com.br/u/468780/) as [ "Cinzas"](https://fanfiction.com.br/historia/502149/Cinzas/);  
> English Adaptation by Swayley;


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